no little thing
by Sylla
Summary: Ryder's ready to be done with Kadara – but Kadara, it seems, isn't done with her. When a routine mission goes sideways, outnumbered and outgunned, Ryder and Reyes are forced to put aside their differences in a desperate fight for their lives. Who knew fighting outlaws could be so therapeutic?


hi my name's sylla and I love to overuse italics and dashes

the reyes romance came outta nowhere and punched me square in the jaw, so here I am punching back. many thanks to my friend PenAgainstSword for her invaluable beta skills!

* * *

 **i.**

Kadara Port. Dark, grimy, and only slightly less lawless than it had been before the Initiative founded its outpost – to say nothing of the smell. A six hundred year journey to a completely different galaxy, only for people to make another Omega. Ryder didn't know what the port had been like before Sloane muscled her way to power, but given what Ryder had seen of Aya and Techiix, she doubted the port had been like _this_. It had taken Liam weeks to stop the "wretched hive of scum and villainy" jokes.

And speaking of scum and villainy…

"SAM, remind me again why this was so important we had to drop everything?"

"As Director Addison mentioned, the missing Initiative equipment includes several memory cores with data necessary to adapt certain Milky Way flora to Andromeda. Spender's records indicate the cores were shipped to Kadara. It would be wise to recover them before they are scrubbed and sold for parts."

"Right." Because when the outlaws weren't busy planning raids on colonies, or trying to make bombs out of helium-3, they had to go and make off with the Initiative's _plant data_.

And here she was, _still_ chasing down the fallout from Spender's little con. She'd honestly thought she was done with Kadara – water purified, kett gone, colony established, no reason to come back. Ever. She'd be fine if she never smelled sulfur again in her life.

However, if Ryder were honest with herself – something hard to avoid during the night cycle, when the Tempest went quiet and she was alone with her thoughts – her reluctance to come back had nothing to do with Kadara itself and everything to do with the shitshow that had been her last visit.

She could still remember with painful clarity the feeling of the floor falling out from beneath her as Reyes stepped out from the shadows in that cave, the wrenching realization of just how thoroughly she'd been played, how incredibly, unbelievably _stupid_ she'd been. How he'd _lied_ to her.

 _You look like you're waiting for someone._

The words had come like a punch to the gut. And to top it all off, he'd seemed... unconcerned. Unrepentant.

Sara was not a woman used to hiding her feelings, though becoming Pathfinder and having to deal with Nexus brass had definitely been a crash course in maintaining a poker face. Even so, it'd taken everything in her not to cry, to turn the _how could you_ on the tip of her tongue into _you aren't the man I thought you were_. It had only been later, on the drive back to Kadara, that her grief had turned into boiling rage – and things had exploded _magnificently_ when she got back to Tartarus.

All things considered, not an experience she was eager to repeat.

Which left Sara in the unfortunate position of having to track down stolen goods whilst avoiding the one person most likely to know where they were.

 _Maybe there's some other secretly-a-gang-leader person who'll help me out_ , she thought.

It was too much to hope that Reyes hadn't noticed her arrival on Kadara, but she hoped he'd have the good sense to stay out of her way. She'd nearly punched him through a goddamn wall at their last meeting; only a supreme feat of self-control – and the knowledge that Kadara would descend into chaos if both Sloane _and_ the Charlatan died in the same week – had stopped her from doing it. She wasn't sure she'd be able to resist the temptation a second time.

The crew had been supportive, after. She hadn't gotten even the slightest hint they might be judging her for having been so naïve, which had somehow made it all even worse. Vetra had rustled up a case of bootleg beer from somewhere or other, and Drack had even offered her the loan of his favorite shotgun if and when she felt like tracking Reyes down and kneecapping him. Peebee, surprisingly, had been the most understanding about the whole affair – a sudden reminder that the asari knew what it was like to be hurt, too. It was so easy to forget, with Peebee.

She rolled one shoulder irritably. God damn Reyes, and god damn her for letting him get so close in the first place.

Time to do what she needed to do and get the hell out.

Kralla's Song was packed as usual; the only place to get a decent drink in Kadara without risking the slums. The boost in morale she'd been told about was most evident here: people of all species rubbed shoulders, talking animatedly – there were even a few people wearing Initiative colors dotted about. The atmosphere was veering dangerously close to _friendly_. Umi had managed to cram even more tables into the place, but even so there wasn't a free seat in the house.

Ryder approached the bar as quickly as possible, which was not very. Still, being Pathfinder had its perks, even on Kadara; she only had to elbow one or two people out of the way. She ordered a drink – an expensive one – before broaching the subject.

"I might be in the market for some new memory cores. Little bird said I could find some here. I don't suppose you'd happen to know more?"

Umi gave her an expression that could be best described as incredulous.

"Thought you'd know, nothing gets in or out of this port these days without passing through the Collective. Why not ask your buddy?"

Ryder stomped down hard on a grimace. "I – uh." _The breakup wasn't so good and I'd rather not have to go crawling back to him for intel?_ "I'd rather not owe too many favors. You know."

By the look on Umi's face, she was fooling nobody. "Uh-huh. Well… can't say I've heard of any memory cores on the market. But I could keep an ear out, if you're interested."

"Thanks, Umi. You're a peach." She transferred a thousand credits on top of what she'd already paid for the drink – better to be known as over-generous than risk underpaying – and left the bar, drink untouched.

 _Well, that was a bust._

She stopped by the marketplace, pretending to browse the arms merchant's wares while considering her next move. The sun was starting to slink towards the jagged horizon, filling the plaza with a warm, slanting light. The holo signs, illuminated at all hours in Kadara, seemed to glow brighter against the dying light.

Who else did Ryder know on Kadara who didn't want to kill her and might have the information she wanted? The list was pretty short. With Umi scratched off, it was... just one name, in fact.

 _Hell no._

She'd go back to the Tempest and consult with the team on what to do next; maybe one of Vetra's contacts could –

"Ex-excuse me!"

A hand grabbed her shoulder, and she spun on her heel, ready to take on whatever idiot thought 'Nexus' meant easy prey; it turned out to be a salarian who cringed away from her raised fist.

"Oh! Sorry." She hurriedly lowered her hands. "Uh... something I can help you with?"

"Yes – er, no." The salarian seemed nervous, wringing his hands. "Actually, I think I might be able to help _you_. I was in Kralla's Song and I overheard; you're looking for memory cores, yes?"

Ryder leaned back against the counter of the stall, crossing her arms. "That's... right."

The salarian seemed to become, if possible, even more nervous, casting a glance about before leaning in. "I think I know where they are – or where they were. I heard some of the local smugglers talking about memory cores down by the new docks. I could take you there, if..."

It took Ryder a beat to realize this was her cue. _Oh, right. Money._

"How much?" A little blunt, maybe, but she was tired, and she hated all this cloak-and-dagger bullshit.

"For you, Pathfinder? Say... three thousand?"

"Fine," she grunted, and transferred the amount. She'd wrangle the reimbursement out of Addison later, or better yet, let one of her crew handle it. She was ready to be off this rock.

"Over here." The salarian beckoned for her to follow, and led her down a series of narrow side streets. With the influx of colonists, as well as increased trade from the Nexus, Kadara's population had boomed; new structures had mushroomed around the already-existing settlement, wrapping around the mountainside. But the further into the rabbit's nest of alleys they went, the more something felt... off. For a minute she couldn't put her finger on it; then, with stunning clarity, it hit her.

Kadara was a thriving port, filled with people at all hours. But now things were – as cliché as it sounded – _too_ quiet. In fact, there didn't seem to be anybody around at all. It made every hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

Suddenly, the buildings on either side dropped away to reveal the docks the salarian had mentioned. A narrow platform, jutting out of the cliff face, ringed on three sides by buildings and on the fourth by open sky, and crammed full of crates. And then it all made sense.

 _Shit._

Ryder wasn't stupid, reckless streak aside. She could put two and two together and get "lovely place for an ambush", same as the next person.

As if on cue, SAM's voice came over their private channel.

"Pathfinder, I am detecting multiple life signs in the area."

 _Double shit._

"How many?" she asked, sotto voce.

"I estimate no more than thre, excluding the salarian."

Three. Three, she could manage. Probably.

"SAM, hail the Tempest." Taking a deep breath, she activated her biotics as subtly as possible, putting up a shield that would stop most gunfire. She'd have a split second to run to cover, at any rate.

The salarian bolted, not that it mattered. From behind the crates, three figures stepped out – a turian, a human, and a krogan.

"Don't bother running, Pathfinder," the krogan rumbled. "We have men at every exit." He seemed pleased with himself for having thought of it.

"Yeah?" Ryder replied, more out of habit than anything else, scanning the area for a viable escape route. They hadn't started shooting right off the bat, so maybe they wanted something other than her life.

"Yeah. You know, we had it real good before you showed up," the krogan continued, oblivious. The other two seemed more than happy to follow his game. She thanked her lucky stars these outlaws were the _monologue first, shoot later_ variety. It gave her more time to find an escape route. There; a balcony on the upper level, on the far side near the drop. If she could make her way over there using the crates as cover, she could use her biotics to boost herself up, at least get some distance between them and her...

"Pathfinder, I am unable to raise the Tempest. It appears they are using a signal jammer," SAM's voice sounded in her head.

 _Triple shit._ She had to hand it to this hunk of rock: Kadara really knew how to show a girl a good time.

"But then you went and shot Sloane," the human snarled, not content to let the krogan do all the talking.

"You – wait, _I_ shot Sloane?" She'd talked with a turian on the Nexus who had been under the same impression; she hadn't known it was a widespread thing. There could only be one source for that particular rumor. If she got out of this alive, she was going to _kill_ Reyes.

"Don't pretend you're innocent." The turian, this time. "We had a good deal going in the Outcasts, Ryder. But you couldn't leave well enough alone."

"Yeah, well," she replied. _Keep them talking; keep them distracted._ "Guess that's just what I'm like; can't leave a poor tyrant to do her job in peace."

Things were coming to a head, and her sarcasm wasn't helping any; she could almost taste the tang of tension about to break on the back of her tongue. She bent her knees imperceptibly, ready to dive into cover –

"Ryder!"

The thugs drew their weapons. As one, everyone turned to look at the intruder.

" _Reyes?"_


End file.
